Doin' the Cockroach

I'm jumping in to the fray over which Modest Mouse song is best in depicting suffering. I would agree with Sally more that "The View" brings up an excellent point of "if it takes shit to make bliss, well I feel pretty blissfully." I think we all can find some solace in that statement after reading about the unfortunate demises in the "End" sections of Ovid. In addition, Sarah's argument for "Cowboy Dan" has some interesting parallels with Job, but it's a story we've heard FAR too many times.

Modest Mouse's best song for suffering is by far "Doin' the Cockroach":

I was in heaven
I was in hell
Believe in neither
But fear them as
well
This one's a doctor
This one's a lawyer
This one's a cash
fiend
taking your money
Back of the metro
Ride on the
greyhound
Drunk on the Amtrak
Please shut up
Another rider
He was a
talker
Talking about TV
Please shut up
This one's a
crazer
Daydreaming disaster
The origin of junk food
Rutting through
garbage
Tasty but worthless
Dogs eat their own shit
We're doing the
cockroach yeah
Doin the cockroach yeah
Doin the cockroach yeah (alright,
not bad) [x3]
One year
Twenty years
Forty years
Fifty
years
Down the road in your life
You'll look in the mirror
And say, "My
parents are still alive."
You move your mouth
You shake your tongue
You
vibrate my eardrums
You're saying words
But you know I ain't
listening

I think one of the most terrifying feelings in life is when a situation is beyond one's control. In the song, Isacc Brock sings about somehow being in Heaven and Hell at the same time even though he doesn't believe in them. He expresses his frustration with the structures of capitalism and how we are living out our lives earning and dispensing money with no say at all. He points out how dogs eat their own shit with the hidden question of whether humans do the same thing. All of these factors that seems out of our control cummulate to the feeling of being a cockroach. If we agree that our larger environment is out of our control, aren't we nothing more than the lowest form of life on Earth? In T.S. Eliot's, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, he compares his existence to a cockroach as well:

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60
And how should I presume?

T.S Eliot is "Doin the Cockroach" or rather Isacc Bruce emulated Eliot's suffering. Both writers ask the question, "How can we press forward in the face of insurmountable adversity?" Granted, these are Job stories to an extent, but there's one major difference: we can't escape the sufferings of life if we tried. We don't even realize how life begins or ends. No one will explain the middle to us. Literature, school, friends, and activities on the weekend are all variations of people passing the time because we don't know what else to do. There is no larger goal, other than to live as full and as busy a life as possible. We need to scurry around like a cockroach more, otherwise we'll get squished by unforeseeable forces. We can't control these forces. Worrying about it is futile. We can only wriggle about and define what life is to us.

Patience

First off, I'd like to apologize for not keeping up on the blog like I should be. The last couple of weeks have been busy. Too busy for my liking.

I've been thinking. The secret moral of the story of the class is patience. Through mythology, we learn to be patient with others and ourselves. If someone is feeling the weight of the world on their shoulders, it's perfectly acceptable because there are books upon books of people that have been in the same situation. Be patient because the world moves in cycles and your periods of down will be followed by periods of up. In Ovid's Metamorphosis, the heroes make the mistake of not being patient enough and then pay for their mistake at the whims of the Gods. If Icarus had been a bit more patient, he would've flown just fine. Proserpina and Eve impatiently ate forbidden fruits without thinking through the consequences. In one of the few stories with a happy ending, Pygmalion lived happily ever after with his statue because he was patient. Only the Gods are able to be impatient. Only they are allowed instant gratification. For the rest of us measly mortals, we must wait our turn.

Dr. Sexson is dolling out patience by the handfuls every time he interacts with us. Some people (myself included) are learning patience through reading thousands of pages of literature. Will what I read now ever help me in life later?

Others are searching for patience in their writing. Will what I say now be relevant in 3, 5, or 10 years? Now I'm sure Dr. Sexson will argue that whatever you write down is important, but let's be honest, the world has only so much patience. It is humanly impossible to read every work of literature ever written. But with the help of Ovid's Metamorphosis we can patiently realize that there is really only a set of stories that are being rewritten over and over again.

I just hope it means I have to read less.

Bulls

Here's an excerpt from Chapter 43: Dionysus of The Golden Bough:

A feature in the mythical character of Dionysus, which at first sight appears inconsistent with his nature as a deity of vegetation, is that he was often conceived and represented in animal shape, especially in the form, or at least with the horns, of a bull. Thus he is spoken of as “cow-born,” “bull,” “bull-shaped,” “bull-faced,” “bull-browed,” “bull-horned,” “horn-bearing,” “two-horned,” “horned.” He was believed to appear, at least occasionally, as a bull. His images were often, as at Cyzicus, made in bull shape, or with bull horns; and he was painted with horns. Types of the horned Dionysus are found amongst the surviving monuments of antiquity. On one statuette he appears clad in a bull’s hide, the head, horns, and hoofs hanging down behind. Again, he is represented as a child with clusters of grapes round his brow, and a calf’s head, with sprouting horns, attached to the back of his head. On a red-figured vase the god is portrayed as a calf-headed child seated on a woman’s lap. The people of Cynaetha held a festival of Dionysus in winter, when men, who had greased their bodies with oil for the occasion, used to pick out a bull from the herd and carry it to the sanctuary of the god. Dionysus was supposed to inspire their choice of the particular bull, which probably represented the deity himself; for at his festivals he was believed to appear in bull form. The women of Elis hailed him as a bull, and prayed him to come with his bull’s foot. They sang, “Come hither, Dionysus, to thy holy temple by the sea; come with the Graces to thy temple, rushing with thy bull’s foot, O goodly bull, O goodly bull!” The Bacchanals of Thrace wore horns in imitation of their god. According to the myth, it was in the shape of a bull that he was torn to pieces by the Titans; and the Cretans, when they acted the sufferings and death of Dionysus, tore a live bull to pieces with their teeth. Indeed, the rending and devouring of live bulls and calves appear to have been a regular feature of the Dionysiac rites. When we consider the practice of portraying the god as a bull or with some of the features of the animal, the belief that he appeared in bull form to his worshippers at the sacred rites, and the legend that in bull form he had been torn in pieces, we cannot doubt that in rending and devouring a live bull at his festival the worshippers of Dionysus believed themselves to be killing the god, eating his flesh, and drinking his blood.

Its easy for one someone to say that we have moved past eating bulls in such savage ways, but one must look closer at how and the way we eat. Don't many football players, construction workers, or military personnel demand a big, juicy steak before preparing for their feats of strength? Aren't men embodying the strengths of bulls when they challenge them to races at Pamplona or devour their muscle on a daily basis?American's worship the bull in every aspect of life. The hamburger is arguably America's most popular meal choice. Between the overwhelming presence of McDonald's and countless other fast food chains beef is a dominant food staple. On the nation's birthday, The Fourth of July, families across the country are urged to eat beef. When body builder's try to put on muscle, it is known as "beefing up". When someone is picking a fight with a foe, they "have beef" with that person. "Bullying" is a rite of passage for males; from using tiny fists in playground fights to using deadly weapons in international wars. The financial lifeblood of the United States lies within the stock market. It's symbol is a bull. The energy drink of choice for the nation's youth is Red Bull with the slogan: "It gives you wings." A company's intent becomes very clear when it states that their product gives God like powers to both bulls and people.

Not only is eating a bull a sign of money and power, but also wearing and covering objects with its smooth skin is something we do every day. We wear leather to make our feet strong and we wear leather jackets to become more bullheaded. All fabrics pale in comparison to leather couches and leather upholstery. When you buy a luxury car, you buy one that's fully loaded with a leather interior.

Ultimately, that is what we are searching for when we subconsciously devour every part of the bull; we want to be fully loaded. The God like qualities of a bull are intimidating, like a loaded gun with a bullet in the chamber. Once we become the bull, our shoulders have broadened and we are able to run over anything in our path with the weight of a ton of bricks.

Now we understand why Pasiphae was so eager to don a cow suit and court the white bull. It had qualities that didn't even come close to any puny man! Hmmm, two scrawny legs or four beefy ones? Thin porous skin or a tough leathery hide? Nimble fingers or powerful hooves? Yeah, I'm pretty sure I would want my kid to have horns too. No one would bully him, that's for sure.

Nightmares

I could have written this blog about a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, but I didn't. I have not recently been raped or eaten my own son. Not even on a metaphorical level. My near-death experiences lie in the category of far-death experiences. (In other words: not exciting). The closest I come to death is in my nightmares.

I am in a parking lot, usually at a grocery store, and suddenly everyone is looking up above the store. It's an asteroid hurtling towards Earth. I am filled with the most terrible of feelings. I am thinking to myself that, "this is it. I'm going to die now." And then I wake up.

I'm in a large city with skyscrapers everywhere. It is cloudy, but it could be all smoke; I cannot tell. Planes are crashing into buildings all around me. I have no idea if I am in a building that's about to get hit or if I am standing on the floor that is about to get hit of a certain building. I hurry to the lobby where others have bunkered down behind a desk. It's understood that we have to get moving because the building is about to collapse. Somehow the group is able to hijack a plane that is attempting to take off outside. I tackle a terrorist and slice his throat with a knife.

I am the star of an action movie that is no longer entertaining when the danger becomes all the more imminent.

Professor Sexson also asked us to have a sublime experience; one where we experience beauty and fear at the same time. I would argue that we as humans can only experience simulated sublime moments and that we reach greater heights of fear and beauty within our dreams and our encounters with our subconscious. Let's say you are in a car accident where you were pushed to the brink of death. How aware are we of that brink? How much time do we have to think, "I am going to die"? Aren't our dreams slowed down more so that we can have a heightened sense of our existence? The phrase "being lulled into something" indicates someone being put into a sleep or dream state. When people are groggy, their defenses are down. In most dreams (and in all of my dreams) people are not in control. Isn't that the most frightening state of all?

Being Rational

The underlying theme of the class has been based around Professor Sexson's essay, "Myth: the way we were or the way we are?" Professor Sexson has made it clear from the beginning and in his essay that myth is the shadow that we cannot elude. To him, storytelling is how we thought, currently see, and will see the world from our earliest memories to our gasping breaths before death.

I, foolish as it may be, believe the opposite. The more I read about talking snakes, the more I am unable to willfully suspend disbelief. I have have surrounded myself in a perceived reality and I have shunned "myth". I know, I know- there are probably things that I believe that are no more real than Cyrinx and Pan, but many have labeled me as a rationalist. In Mireca Eliade's Myth and Reality, the author talks much about how myth IS reality and not as much about how it is NOT reality. In chapter 8, Eliade discusses myth and rationalists:

If we are to believe Herodotus, Solon already said that "the deity is full of envy and instability." In any case, the Milesian philosophers refused to see the Figure of the true divinity in Homer's descriptions. When Thales affirmed that "every thing is full of gods", he was revolting against the Homeric idea that Gods inhabited only certain regions of the Cosmos. Anaximander attempts to present a total conception of the universe, without gods and without myths. (Eliade, 152).

There was a lot of name-dropping in that passage, but the one philosopher I chose was Anaximander. His bio is here. He was a pre-Socratic Greek philosopher who stated that physical forces, rather than supernatural ones created order in the universe. Rationalists like Anaximander pointed out how arbitrary the Greek Gods were. Why wasn't there a God of Yogurt? (There is a Greek of The Gods Yogurt which is delicious, but that's besides the point.)

I know I'm discrediting the value of myth in a mythology class, but hear me out. If mythology is a discourse in the way we are, is it only because we believe in it? Could we just as easily believe in chaos instead? The only reason we are aware of these stories is because cultures carry them down from generation to generation. Maybe rationalists like myself could destroy the imagination over a series of demythified explanations such as Anaximander.

This is a weak argument that I will continue to refine in the coming classes. I am not fully convinced that myth is the the way we are and yet I know the shadow of myth follows me everywhere I go. It will haunt me in my dreams tonight.

Narcissus and Revelations

I will start out this post with two quotes: the first is from the Golden Bough and the second is from the comic strip, Calvin and Hobbes:

Where the shadow is regarded as so intimately bound up with the life of the man that its loss entails debility or death, it is natural to expect that its diminution should be regarded with solicitude and apprehension, as betokening a corresponding decrease in the vital energy of its owner. In Amboyna and Uliase, two islands near the equator, where necessarily there is little or no shadow cast at noon, the people make it a rule not to go out of the house at mid-day, because they fancy that by doing so a man may lose the shadow of his soul. The Mangaians tell of a mighty warrior, Tukaitawa, whose strength waxed and waned with the length of his shadow. In the morning, when his shadow fell longest, his strength was greatest; but as the shadow shortened towards noon his strength ebbed with it, till exactly at noon it reached its lowest point; then, as the shadow stretched out in the afternoon, his strength returned. A certain hero discovered the secret of Tukaitawa’s strength and slew him at noon. (Frazer, Chapter 18: The Perils of the Soul)

When I think of shadows and reflections, I think of the story of Narcissus and how he becomes enraptured by his reflection in both the life and the afterlife. He himself becomes his only friend. Certain cultures see reflections and shadows as extensions of the soul. The shorter the shadow, the less power it has. Every now and then I will run in the wee hours of the evening and I'll marvel at how enormous my shadow stretches. It's as if the light is blowing a giant bubble of a shadow that is pushing against my body and generating a giant space at the same time. With all the technology and resources that we have at our tips, there is still nothing that can replicate a shadow's extension of the body and soul. Instead of covering inches at a time. I am leaping and bounding by school bus lengths. In some instances, I'll be running at night beneath light posts and the shadow seemingly becomes a separate entity. It starts with me and then runs away with each passing light source. What does that say about my soul? Am I on an endless loop that's only as strong as my light source? Do people in cloud covered regions have less of a soul since they rarely see their shadow?

Calvin is acting just like Narcissus in two manners: he is afraid that nothing outside of himself can live up to his expectations and that he is essentially alone since Hobbes is a stuffed animal. The strip not only brings up questions like, "What is the meaning of life?", but it also addresses how Death could be around the corner. What if the "Middles" story is truncated by death? What if the Creation story is actually a short introduction to the story of Death?

Perseus and Atlas

The Perseus stories begin in Book IV at around page 133 of Ovid's Metamorphosis.

Perseus was the son of Danae and technically the son of Jove. In the myth, however, Jove helped conceive Perseus by way of a golden shower. Of course. Perseus was blessed with the task of flying around the world via wings carrying the head of Medusa. He eventually scared Atlas the giant into a mountain:

At that, he turned his back to Atlas--and held up Medusa's head with his left hand. Great Atlas now became a mountain mass as huge as he had been; his beard, his hair were changed to woods; his shoulders and his arms, to ridges; what had been his head was now a mountaintop; his bones were changed to stones. That done, in all his parts his form grew still more huge--such was your will, o gods; his head supported all of heaven and its stars.

....And that's how mountains were formed. It's interesting to think of a man transforming into a mountain. Which parts represent his legs? Where is the 'eye' of the mountain?

Perseus went on to wrap Medusa's head in seaweed, turn it to rock, and cast it into the ocean. This was the creation story for coral.

The dude kicked some major ass AND got the girl Andromeda in the end. How is there not a movie based off of this character? He should at LEAST have a mediocre cartoon based after him. I didn't see Clash of The Titans, was this story in there?